The weblog of Norman Geras

July 30, 2010

It's a family quarrel and I prefer to keep out of that; but it's also a public contest for the leadership of the Labour Party, in which, though I am not a member, I do have an interest as a lifelong Labour voter. I will therefore say that if Ed Miliband is fairly reported here, he still has some sharpening up of his political skills to do, to say nothing of his capacity for detecting a lame utterance as it leaves his mouth.

In a two-hour Radio 5 hustings, David Miliband claimed that his brother Ed was in the same position over the Iraq war as all the other candidates save Diane Abbott, since she alone had vocally opposed the conflict at the time.

Ed Miliband has claimed that he opposed the war at the time of the invasion in 2003 but was living in the US, so his views were not known in the UK.
.....
[David Miliband] asserted: "Diane Abbott is the only candidate that can say she was against the war at the time, and if that is the sole criterion, she is in a different position to every other candidate. She did not just think she was against it, she said she was against it, and she marched against it."

Ed Miliband insisted on his opposition: "I did tell people at the time that asked me that I was against the war."

Balls said under his breath "you did not tell people" before pointing out that in 2005, when the Times asked Labour figures whether they would have voted for the war, Ed did not answer the question.

Ed Miliband countered that he did tell his constituency party in 2005 of his opposition, but denied he was seeking any moral superiority.

(1) Ed told people who asked him. And otherwise? This was, after all, a major topic of political conversation over many months and more. How could anyone have been left in doubt about what his views were? (2) If he claims no moral superiority on the issue, why insist on bringing up his own more 'virtuous' record? (3) In any case, the asumption behind it all, namely, that there was nothing to be said for supporting the Iraq war, is itself a piece of Pharisaism fit only for the consumption of people of slow moral wit.

If you have 20 minutes to spare (I know, I know) treat yourself to this entertaining mini-lecture from Michael Sandel. Honest, you won't regret it: who should get the best flutes? should a golfer with a disability be permitted to travel round the course in a golf cart? what is there to be said for and against same sex marriage? And the three questions are connected.

It's all in the service of trying to revive 'the lost art of democratic debate', and the payoff comes at 16 minutes in; it's as follows:

There is a tendency to think that if we engage too directly with moral questions in politics, that's a recipe for disagreement, and for that matter a recipe for intolerance and coercion; so better to shy away from, to ignore, the moral and the religious convictions that people bring to civic life. It seems to me that our discussion reflects the opposite: that a better way to mutual respect is to engage directly with the moral convictions citizens bring to public life, rather than to require that people leave their deepest moral convictions outside politics before they enter. That, it seems to me, is a way to begin to restore the art of democratic argument.

He's surely right. First, unless one follows this advice one cannot get to the bottom of any serious political difference. Second, even if you think it impossible to resolve fundamental moral differences through argument, we have no better way to proceed than through the attempt at reasoned discussion. You may shift someone or help to inflect their view. Even if you don't, they or you may achieve a better understanding of the other's position. In the end it will come to a decision, through whatever combination of representational and decision procedures a given democracy involves. But up to that point the kind of advocacy Sandel recommends - and attempts in this short session to exemplify - is to date the best thing we have.

That's summer camp as presided over by Hamas and Islamic Jihad. The kids play in the waves, play football and other, er, games. And they learn things as well:

Zidan Obied, who is running this camp, explains the programme and philosophy. "We are expressing our principles as Islamic Jihad. We believe in the right of resistance and we are against peace negotiations."

He runs through some of the daily activities: sessions on the history and geography of Palestine; readings from the Qur'an; arts and literature; drawing – "we teach them to draw maps of Palestine from the river to the sea"; lessons on the significance of Jerusalem and the al-Aqsa mosque; sports; volunteering activities such as tree-planting and clearing cemeteries; military-style marching and exercises.

This, of course, is for the boys. There are separate camps for girls, with "very limited" sporting activities. Instead they are taught crafts, such as embroidery.

Along the beach, so to say, the boys' activities include playing 'sniper's corner' and the girls are 'studying the Qur'an for five hours a day':

"Of course we have a political agenda," says Ahmed Nabil, a Hamas official helping to run the camp. "We believe the older generation has a duty to tell the younger generation about these issues. We are letting them play but also giving them a message. We must not let them forget that we are an occupied people."

It's all there: 'from the river to the sea' means one day no more Israel; 'under occupation' merely neglects the detail that Gaza's disoccupation was used as an opportunity to start tossing missiles at Israeli population centres; and those girls are doing embroidery in a much more limited range of activities than is laid on for the boys.

This is for the children, those carrying the hopes and dreams of Palestine's future. And still there are Western liberals and leftists - or so they would describe themselves - happy to agree that this is a kind of politics one can support; happy to agree that the problem of Israel-Palestine is exclusively due to Israel.

Even on a Friday afternoon, with the weekend coming into view, it's kind of mystifying.

Cricinfo have just posted their all-time West Indian XI. It's a selection made by a panel for the constituent countries, including journalists and former players. As you'd expect if you have any love for or interest in West Indies cricket, it's a formidable line-up. Here it is:

Everton Weekes had a Test batting average of 58.61, Clyde Walcott one of 56.68, and Frank Worrell and Rohan Kanhai were both in the high 40s. Roberts, Garner and Hall aren't a bad pace trio either. What cricketing wealth! The Invincibles are here.

Gareth Williams was born in Pontypridd and did most of his growing up in Gloucestershire. He was educated at Cirencester Deer Park School and Cambridge and Oxford Universities, where he mostly studied History. He's worked in industry, retail and the City, and is currently indisposed. When not resting he works for a number of web businesses, including the exciting Newspaper Club. He contributes to The Spectator Arts Blog and a new culture blog, The Dabbler. He's recently written a novel (which is being considered by agents), and is working on another. Gareth lives in London with his wife and two boys. He blogs at Ragbag.

Why do you blog? > I'm addicted now and find I'm not happy when a day ends without a post having been written. However, I started because I was bored – I've been unwell for a couple of years and haven't always been able to get out of the house. (I'll be well by the end of the year so not to worry.)

What has been your best blogging experience? > Making friends and discovering that people liked what I'd written.

What has been your worst blogging experience? > Imagining the tumbleweed blowing, having made a would-be witty comment which turned out to be the final one on a post. (So really not too bad then.)

What would be your main blogging advice to a novice blogger? > Make it a habit and follow your intuitions.

What are you reading at the moment? > David Kynaston's Family Britain, Mark Halperin and John Heilemann's Race of a Lifetime and Oliver Rackham's The History of the Countryside (I always have at least a couple of books on the go).

Who are your cultural heroes? > At the moment, Barry John, The Specials and David Hockney.

What is the best novel you've ever read? > A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce.

Can you name a major moral, political or intellectual issue on which you've ever changed your mind? > I used to think the French Revolution was a good thing.

Can you name a work of non-fiction which has had a major and lasting influence on how you think about the world? > The Years of Lyndon Johnson by Robert A. Caro, because it contains much of what it is important to know about politics in general and modern America in particular.

What do you consider to be the main threat to the future peace and security of the world? > Islamists and those parts of the American Right which insist on taking them at their own estimation.

Do you think the world (human civilization) has already passed its best point, or is that yet to come? > Impossible to say as there can't be a single, universal best point. However, I'm sure that there are many best points yet to come. In any event, I persist in thinking that human civilization is in relatively good shape.

What would be your most important piece of advice about life? > Family's the most important thing, followed by health and friends. Nothing else matters very much.

Do you think you could ever be married to, or in a long-term relationship with, someone with radically different political views from your own? > Yes.

What do you consider the most important personal quality? > Kindness.

What personal fault do you most dislike? > Er, evil?

Do you have any prejudices you're willing to acknowledge? > In general, I don't like the eastern part of England above London and below Newcastle.

What is your favourite proverb? > 'Eggs is eggs.'

What commonly enjoyed activities do you regard as a waste of time? > Pool – but that's the point of it.

What, if anything, do you worry about? > Too much to mention.

If you were to relive your life to this point, is there anything you'd do differently? > Avoid furniture retail.

What would you call your autobiography? > Illuminating a Small Field (from a poem by R.S. Thomas). I'm publishing a newspaper of collected posts from my blog that will form something of a memoir and I've given it this title.

Who would play you in the movie about your life? > The actor who played the male lead in the early series of ER and who isn't George Clooney.

What do you like doing in your spare time? > The notion of spare time is problematic.

If you had to change your first name, what would you change it to? > Odilon or Steve.

What talent would you most like to have? > A musical one.

Who are your sporting heroes? > Mark Ring - in terms of pure talent and the ability to express that talent in a beautiful way, the best centre three-quarter I've ever seen.

[The normblog profile is a weekly Friday morning feature. A list of all the profiles to date, and the links to them, can be found here.]

July 29, 2010

On his way to a silent retreat somewhere or other, Stuart Jeffries runs into a noisy couple on the train, and his description of the encounter leads him to some reflections on 'the hell of other people's noise' and the general downward drift of the world in this regard. I have a lot of sympathy for what he says, but also a closing reservation about the piece as a whole. I'll get to that in due course.

First, the sympathy. On trains. It can drive a person absolutely nuts. You're trying to read and for the first phase of the journey you're constantly assaulted by announcements from the train manager or whoever, telling you stuff you mostly already know, like where your train is going - and in the most loving detail - and stuff you don't want to know, like the safety precautions you might like to read about. At Manchester Piccadilly you're told that the train will stop at Stockport, Macclesfield, Stoke-on-Trent and Milton Keynes; at Stockport 10 minutes later, that it will stop at Macclesfield, Stoke-on-Trent and Milton Keynes; at Macclesfield 12 minutes later, that it will stop at Stoke-on-Trent and Milton Keynes... I know, I know, it's for the new people getting on at each station. But the hell with that. I've been travelling on trains in this country from long before these announcement practices began, and in those earlier days people generally knew where to get off. Then there's all the rest of the ambient noise, the worst kind being the long mobile phone conversation, or the endless sequence of such conversations from the same person sitting right near you. Quiet carriage? As Jeffries says, forget about it. No one who wants to share their noise with others is going to let that 'quiet carriage' status bother them. Some people I know well are untroubled, when reading, by noise close by. But me, I'm not so lucky. When I get on a train these days, I pray (in a manner of speaking). When the prayer fails, as it often does, I move somewhere else in the train if I can. It can be a journey of many seats.

And then, never mind reading. Stand on a major station and listen to them telling you all the things you aren't allowed to do. You mustn't smoke. You mustn't cycle. You mustn't skateboard or rollerblade, or drop litter. In the end you start to wonder when they're going to say, 'Please don't copulate on the platforms; do not squash pieces of cake into the faces of other customers'. The London Underground today: from the minute you enter there, they will not leave you alone with their bloody announcements. This part of the Circle Line is closed for woojles; the Metropolitan Line is flooded; if you want to get down the bottom of the Northern Line, then go via Bank, not Charing Cross - or, possibly, tough. Those trying to get to Belsize Park should consider travelling to Rugby and taking a coach from there.

If you'll excuse the expression, just shut up for a bit hey, why don't you? Ah, but it's for the information of customers. OK, so stuff the information at the entrances and let them read it if they want to and if not, suffer the consequences should there in fact be any consequences. At Highgate station - pronounced on the intercom 'Highgt' - they have loudspeakers on one of the escalators taking you right out of the place, so that you'll be alert to the information that may (may) be of interest to someone just coming in.

So, enough already. Why don't they just quieten the whole thing down and improve everyone's day, just like that and by a factor of plenty? And yet, and yet. Much as I fume and rant about this when the mood takes me, would I ever take myself off to a silent retreat? Ha! Pull the other one. I'd as soon join a circle of SWP bus-ticket collectors. Too much noise is annoying and sometimes maddening. But to want to be cut off from normal peace and quiet, with a certain amount of tolerable sound (including, when you want it, human conversation, a spot of music, that sort of thing)... well, I won't say you can't do it if it's to your taste, but it sure ain't to mine. A moderate in all things, I stand, in this, for the sensible in-between.

July 28, 2010

Every other Wednesday, except for festivals and High Holy-days, an anti-Zionist group called ASHamed Jews meets in an upstairs room in the Groucho Club in Soho to dissociate itself from Israel, urge the boycotting of Israeli goods, and otherwise demonstrate a humanity in which they consider Jews who are not ASHamed to be deficient. ASHamed Jews came about as a consequence of the famous Jewish media philosopher Sam Finkler's avowal of his own shame on Desert Island Discs.

"My Jewishness has always been a source of pride and solace to me," he told Radio Four's listeners, not quite candidly, "but in the matter of the dispossession of the Palestinians I am, as a Jew, profoundly ashamed."

"Profoundly self-regarding," you mean, was his wife's response. But then she wasn't Jewish and so couldn't understand just how ashamed in his Jewishness an ashamed Jew could be.

That I know of, there is no Jewish media philosopher named Sam Finkler nor any anti-Zionist group meeting regularly at the Groucho Club. They exist only in the pages of my new novel... and any relation between them and real people or organisations is of course coincidental.

That's Howard Jacobson, whose new novel The Finkler Question has just been longlisted for the Booker Prize, writing in the Jewish Chronicle and on top form. Do read the piece. It has some very pertinent observations on the 'poisoned playlet' of Caryl Churchill; and also this statement of the obvious, one part of whose obviousness is regularly disregarded by those who embrace its other part:

Let's get something out of the way. I don't think that being critical of Israel makes anyone an antisemite. Only a fool would think it does.

But only a fool would think it follows that criticism of Israel can never be antisemitic, or that anti-Zionism isn't a haven in which antisemitism is sometimes given leave to flourish.

There's a great post by Leah Stewart over here, on the subject of literary sexism. She's taking issue with the view that 'male writers tackle the great subjects, while women write only about relationships'; and with the view that 'relationships are not one of "the great subjects"'. I won't try and summarize what she says, just urge you to read the post.

However, I will use it as a peg on which to hang my own bafflement - which I've expressed before in writing about Anne Tyler - that anyone could take the view that a person's most intimate relationships (family ties, other loves, friendships etc) could be a small subject. It's merely philistinism to think so. Then there's the little matter of Austen, George Eliot, the Brontës, Wharton, Woolf; to say nothing of Tyler, Pym, Taylor, Spark, Robinson... and so on. Isn't it a bit late in the aeon for the idea that women still have something to prove?

It's very easy to wonder why certain studies which discover the obvious are carried out, so today I'm not going to do that. Rather, I'll just idly speculate about strategies in the choice of research projects. Here goes.

It turns out - from a study done in the state of Rhode Island - that if you are loved, and loved expressively, by your mother when you're young, then you are more likely to grow up a confident adult, better able to cope with the stresses of life. And there was I thinking that a mean-spirited, carping mom who always tried to undermine her child and occasionally tore up the child's drawings with a mocking laugh would do wonders for his morale, as child and adult both.

But, sticking to my stated intention, I ask about strategies of research: what would lead a researcher to look into this seemingly obvious matter? Maybe it isn't obvious to all. Maybe the 'spare the rod' crowd get so carried away as to believe that not sparing it must be accompanied by the withholding of love. Or better: the truly scientific spirit is one that takes nothing for granted; so we must test even seemingly obvious truths, in the name of Karl Popper. Whatever the case, I personally do not mean to embark on a research project to explore the differential effects on a person's friends of being kind and obliging to them, on the one hand, and being rude and obstreperous and making off with their most treasured possessions, on the other.